


Push my button, anytime

by Konfessor2U



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bath, Beard scruff, Blow Jobs, Bruises, I need to defend my master's thesis in 8 days but I'm writing filthy smut instead, I sweat a lot, Jaskier is a tease, Lovebites, M/M, PWP, Shameless Smut, Sleepy Sex, Update: I passed my master's defense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:20:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22181686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Konfessor2U/pseuds/Konfessor2U
Summary: Jaskier is a good friend, a tease, and so very soft.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 32
Kudos: 870





	1. Chapter 1

Geralt let his head fall back onto the edge of the tub. His body ached terribly and the water felt phenomenal on his tight muscles. Jaskier had bathed first, as he usually did since he was cleaner of the two of them, but the water was still hot. Geralt basically destroyed the bath water as soon as he got in. He was covered in mud, blood, and guts from his latest kill, and it sloughed off of him making the water around him thick and dark. Though, it was hard to complain when the coin was handed over for the job. The handsome payment made it possible for them to stay at a fancier than usual inn with extra amenities.

He hummed quietly as the gentle massage of Jaskier’s fingers through his hair lulled him into a daze. The bard prattled on about a new song he was writing featuring the monster that Geralt had just killed. He closed his eyes and tuned him out. Instead, he focused on the hands on his head, the nails scratching softly at his scalp, the gentle pull of his hair as the bard worked the soap into the roots

“Right, Geralt?” The fingers stopped. “Hellloooo?”

“Hmm?”

“You used mind control magic to hold the beast, right? While you drew your silver sword? I think I’ll add that it was spitting fire. The monster I mean. I guess the sword could be on fire too, crowds love that sort of drama, don’t they?” He started massaging Geralt’s head again.

“That isn’t how it happened.” Geralt cracked one eye open to peak up at the bard. He was surprised to see him grinning down at him.

“Do you think my stories are all true, all the time? Well, they are truer than they were before I met you. You supply excellent material, did you know? Good, quality stuff.” Jaskier shielded Geralt’s eyes as he dumped a jug of clean water over his head, rinsing the dirty suds away and smoothing down the clean white hair.

“Hmm…” Geralt closed his eyes again. He could admit to himself that he enjoyed these moments with Jaskier. The man never shut up but his hands were talented even when they weren’t playing his lute. Surprisingly strong fingers slipped down to Geralt’s neck, kneading his sore muscles and making him groan. “That’s… fuck, that’s good.”

“Mmmhmm!” Geralt could hear the smile in his voice adding a light, sing song-y air to it. Jaskier braced his arms on the edge of the tub and leaned down close to his ear. “Geralt of Rivia, The White Wolf. He can slay a monster with one swing of his sword, or a snap of his fingers, but he will absolutely melt into a puddle of gooey Witcher under the _innocent_ ministrations of a bard. A bard! The ladies are going to go crazy with _that_ song.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.” Geralt knew a challenge when he saw one. Jaskier had been winding him up all week. He ignored the bait.

“No.” Geralt heaved himself up out of the water and rinsed off with a few jugs of cleaner water. He could feel Jaskier watching him as he toweled dry. He sat himself on a stool, and attempted to tame his hair.

The bard stepped up behind him and pushed Geralt’s hands away to do it himself. Jaskier gently rubbed his hair dry with a fresh towel and started combing through it with his fingers. Every touch seemed innocuous but Geralt knew it was well calculated. A precisely executed “accidental” stroke around the shell of his ear, a scrape of his scalp with the perfect amount of pressure Geralt got off on, and a sharp tug on the loose white locks causing goose flesh to break out all over him.

Jaskier was succeeding in breaking him. The man was a damn tease, and a bother. He was definitely a distraction.

“Jaskier,” he growled, grabbing the bard’s wrist, catching him just as he tucked a wisp of hair behind his ear.

“Don’t be moody, Geralt. I’m just trying to help you relax.” Innocent words. Devious actions.

The Witcher pulled the man down onto his lap, making him flail and gasp in surprise. “Do I look relaxed?” He asked, pinning Jaskier with a hungry look.

“Well, you do. You did. Now you look angry? Or sick? Are you bored? I’ve never seen this look on your face before. So, ah, I don’t know how you feel. Do I? Are you ahhh, ok.” Jaskier actually shut up when Geralt grabbed his hand and brought it up to his lips.

Geralt breathed in slowly and deeply, nose pressed to Jaskier's wrist, scenting him. He dragged his scratchy scruff of a beard along the soft skin, enjoying the sharp intake of breath at the sudden abrasion to the tender flesh. Did he hear the bard whimper? If he did, then it was very quiet. He figured that he would just have to do better than that.

He pulled Jaskier to him with a fist in his hair and gave the warm, intoxicating skin of his neck the same attention, drawing out the tense seconds into minutes. Jaskier was panting by the time Geralt pulled back to admire the blush coloring his cheeks and stubble grazed skin on his neck.

Jaskier shifted in his lap and cleared his throat. “Geralt?” 

“Are you soft like this everywhere?” He nipped at Jaskier’s neck before he could answer.

“Hey! Ow, yes, if you must know. I’m softer than you, ow, stop that, you great brute!” Geralt smiled against his neck and he smiled too.

“You mark easily.” Geralt ran a finger over the few bruises he just made, suddenly filled with the need to mark him up everywhere. He slid a hand into the laces of Jaskier’s shirt and started to push his clothes off. “It’s only fair that you show me. I’ve been naked this whole time.” He pouted a bit, which was something he never did and the shape of it on his mouth felt odd.

“Yes, that is... definitely ok.” The bard stood and stripped out of his clothes so fast that he almost fell over from getting his foot caught in his trouser leg. Geralt caught him by the elbow and pulled him down onto the bed on top of him, where his mouth fell upon more soft, creamy skin. “Fuck, Geralt. I never thought that you’d be into this. I'd hoped.” He found himself grinding down on one very firm, very muscular thigh. He moaned at the feeling of the Witcher’s hard cock pressing into his hip.

“You never asked.” He thrust up against Jaskier with one pert arse cheek in each hand, pulling him closer. “You just fucking _teased_.”

“Ho-how was I supposed to know you just wanted to rough me up a bit. It’s hard to tell with your lot. Your type, you’re so hard to read.” Geralt flipped them, faster than Jaskier could even really process, pinning him to the mattress.

“My type?” A well-placed bite to a nipple earned him a little squeak of protest. “I _do_ want to rough you up, Jaskier.”

“Fuck. Oh gods... And you know, dark, quiet, and mysterious? That type.”

“Hmm…” He hummed, trailing more love bites along the sharp edge of Jaskier’s ribcage, eventually moving to the softer, fleshier part of his belly. He had muscle there, but it was muscle visible due to lack of fat. Geralt made a mental note to try to get his bard to eat better meals on the road but the thought was interrupted by nimble fingers in his hair, tugging with that perfect amount of pressure again.

Immediately, his head went fuzzy in a way his mind rarely did. It was dangerous to let his guard down like this, yet here he was, and the need to taste Jaskier, to fuck him, to _consume him_ was overwhelming.

He nosed alongside Jaskier’s cock, smelling him, clean from the fresh bath but musky in his own way. Geralt ignored the begging and ignored the hands in his hair, ignored his own aching cock, and instead rubbed his face on the tender skin on the inside of Jaskier’s legs.

The man was trembling now. “Geralt, you absolute shit.” Geralt nipped his inner thigh and rubbed his scruff on the spot. “Please!”

“Mmm.” That was all the warning that Jaskier got before his cock was swallowed in one smooth motion. Geralt’s tongue traced up and down the underside, circled the head of his cock, licking at his foreskin. His amber eyes bore into Jaskier’s blue ones, watching, basking in the pleasure he was creating with his mouth. He finally let Jaskier guide the pace, one hand buried in his hair. He was passive in this, and loving it.

“Ah! Geralt! I’m not going to last long, fuck, your mouth is sinful.”

Geralt hummed and smiled as best he could, he hoped Jaskier could feel it. He was grinding down, fucking himself into the mattress at the same pace his mouth was being fucked into. He reached up one hand to pinch a nipple between his fingers. The other hand gently caressed Jaskier’s leg, occasionally brushing very close to his testicles, teasing him even more.

“Amazing, astonishing, magical.” Leave it to the bard to be waxing poetic in the middle of sex. “Ah fuck, I’m coming.” Jaskier yanked sharply on his hair, this time trying to pull him off, but Geralt kept his mouth on him as his orgasm shook through him. His thighs tightened around Geralt, squeezing him. He was shaking with the effort of it. Geralt moaned deeply, a rumbling vibrating sound, and ground down harder into the sheets one last time before giving up on getting off that way. He was so close.

“Oh my fucking...” Jaskier was panting, trying to catch his breath as the Witcher nibbled and nipped his way back up the smooth chest and neck, all the way to his mouth. “That was—” Geralt devoured his next words in a slow, deep kiss.

“Good.” He rumbled, finishing the sentence for him. Jaskier nodded and blinked slowly, suddenly feeling so, so tired.

“Geralt, you didn’t finish.” He moved to stroke the Witcher’s leaking cock but both of his hands were caught in one of Geralt’s and pinned above his head. “But…”

“You teased all week, so you only get to watch this time.” Geralt took himself in hand, jerking his cock roughly. There were nights when he liked to sit back and take his time, tonight was not one of those nights. The tension had been building since before Jaskier even put his hands on him this evening. It was quick and dirty, each move precise and exactly what he needed.

Jaskier protested, unable to take his eyes off of Geralt touching himself. “But—”

“No, Jaskier.” His hips began to stutter, and his breath hitched as the beginnings of his orgasm pulsed through him. Geralt let out a breathy moan and watched as his cum covered Jaskier’s smooth stomach and soft cock.

“Next time.” The bard promised, eyeing Geralt hungrily again and writhing slowly underneath him. Always the playful tease.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning...

“Would you fucking stop squirming?” Geralt grumbled into Jaskier’s neck, grumpy that his sleep was disturbed, and judging by the faint light coming from the window, he figured it was still early. The bard was shifting and wiggling, settling only for a moment before moving again.

Jaskier let out an exasperated huff. “I need a wee.”

“You woke me up because you have to take a piss? You have legs, get up and go.” Geralt pushed the man away from him and buried deeper under the blankets.

“But it’s cold.” When he cracked an eye open he saw Jaskier pouting at him, his bite swollen bottom lip protruding, blue eyes wide and round.

“I hate you.” The Witcher begrudgingly got out of bed to close the window. He must have gotten hot in the middle of the night and opened it. He doesn’t remember doing that. In his defense, sleeping next to another body made a lot of heat. He grabbed a large bath towel and tossed it onto Jaskier, who wrapped himself in it and scurried to the toilet.

Geralt must have fallen asleep again while he was gone because he woke up to Jaskier wiggling back into bed and pressing his arse right up against his cock. There were a few precious, quiet, and _still_ minutes until Jaskier moved again. He was about to tell him off again but he noticed the movements were a little bit more deliberate this time.

“Jaskier.” He growled, trying to sound more annoyed than turned on. Jaskier didn’t say anything, instead he continued the sensual roll of his hips. “What now, Jaskier?” Geralt gripped his waist in his hand and pulled him closer, nosing into his hair.

“Geralt,” he sounded reproachful. “I think you know what I want.” Jaskier reached behind him and cupped Geralt’s cock. With every push of his arse into the Witcher’s lap, his grip improved, stroking him to complete hardness. Geralt reached around him to take Jaskier in hand as well, peppering kisses and small bites to his neck and shoulder.

“Mmmm… You are infuriatingly sexy.” Geralt pushed the hand away from his cock so he could really grind into Jaskier the way he wanted to, hugging him tight to his body, reveling in every inch of their naked skin touching, burning. Jaskier opened his legs and draped one back over Geralt’s, opening himself to the Witcher, who responded immediately by sliding his hand down to tease. He gently caressed his tight sack, squeezing firmly before rolling it in his palm. “Is this what you wanted?” Geralt fingers traced Jaskier’s hole, rough callused hands on silky skin, slowly, slowly tracing with increasing firmness, pressing in.

“More, please, Geralt.” He arched his back, like a cat in heat, giving himself to Geralt.

“Hmm..” He pushed a finger in and back out agonizingly slow. “No. I think I’ll take my time with you.” Jaskier whimpered.

Geralt continued to tease Jaskier, lavishing kisses and sharp bites to his neck and shoulder. Jaskier begged him for more, but Geralt was unrelenting, patient despite his own raging need to take him.

He finally gave in and added a second finger. The bard squirmed, trying to shove himself back. Geralt could see over Jaskier’s shoulder, keen eyes locked on where the man was touching himself, pulling his foreskin up over the head of his leaking cock. He was leaking so much, the sheets were wet with it. Geralt was so hard himself, he could barely stand it. His head was fuzzy, as if he were drunk.

“And you... ahh, fuck… you call me a tease.”

He grunted into Jaskier’s neck. “You asked for it, bard, rubbing your arse on me like that. What else did you expect?” He sucked skin between his teeth, he was going to enjoy seeing that mark in the morning.

“I expected you to ravage me, not torture me.” Jaskier reached back to grip Geralt’s hair in his fist, holding his head tight. He tugged not so lightly as Geralt worked a third finger into him. As desperate as he was, he _was_ actually thankful Geralt was taking his time with him. He saw just how big the Witcher was last night, and it terrified and excited him all the same.

Just as the aching stretch of three fingers eased into relaxed pleasure, the fingers were gone.

“Geralt.” Jaskier pleaded, but it wasn’t long until he felt the blunt tip of the Witcher’s cock slowly pushing in. “Oh fuck.” He yanked Geralt’s hair again earning him another bite followed by wet, mouthing kisses. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Jaskier,” it was more of a grunt than a spoken name, choked off into a moan as he held a trembling Jaskier in his arms. He held him there, fully buried inside him, feeling the smooth, hot, body contract around him.

“If you don’t properly fuck me, Geralt of Rivia, I’m going to stop singing praises of you and slander your name instead. Damn it, you are the worst. I knew I shouldn’t ha--” he gasped sharply as Geralt pulled out and slowly fucked back into him, strong arms holding him to his chest, one hand delicately but firmly on Jaskier’s throat.

Geralt only grunted and finally gave in, hips moving faster than before but still not satisfying enough for either of them. A slow, building, burning thing grew between them, their panting breath lost into the room, the morning light creeping in around them.

Jaskier twisted around for a heated kiss. The shift realigned them so that Geralt’s cock was hitting his prostate with every thrust and he moaned shamelessly into Geralt’s mouth, and the Witcher devoured all of it.

“Jaskier, you feel,” Geralt shook with pleasure, his hips stuttering a bit in their thrusting. “You feel incredible.”

“Yes.” It was all he could say as Geralt reached down to work his cock roughly as he fucked him. He was close, they both were, he could feel it building, the air was crackling around them.

“You’re mine, bard.” Jaskier tensed in his grasp, babbling a string of curses and nonsense, nodding frantically. “No one else can ever have you like this.”

“Yours, yes,” Jaskier cried, spilling over Geralt’s hand, dirtying the sheets beneath them even more. His body shook with it, legs trembling. He felt very nearly out of breath, like his lungs were being squeezed from the inside, full of some emotion he wasn’t expecting. “Geralt.” He pulled the Witcher’s mouth to his once more and kissed him hard. Geralt came deep inside him with a low, desperate moan. His hips just barely moving, barely rutting into him. “Jaskier.” The name was a prayer on his lips this time.

They laid there, connected, breathing together. Jaskier felt more relaxed than he had ever been, but that tight, nagging feeling was still in his chest. He rolled towards Geralt once they separated, burying his face in his neck.

“What is it, Jaskier?” His voice sounded like he had swallowed sand.

“So much time.” The bard started to talk but lingered, thinking of how to say what he was feeling.

“Mmm?” Geralt pushed Jaskier away from him slightly to get a better look at his face. Immediately, he sensed that Jaskier was upset. “Tell me.” He demanded firmly, voice still raspy and quiet.

“I didn’t know. It could be like this, I mean.” Jaskier took a deep shuddering breath, gathering his thoughts. “With you. We lost so much time.”

“Shh… stop that.” Geralt scolded. “We have time together yet.” Jaskier nodded, and glanced down at their legs, entangled together, like their fate.

The light filled the room now giving Geralt a view of his work. He traced along the many bruises he had left on Jaskier, dark purple blooms of color on a pale canvas, all his doing. “These look lovely on you.” He pressed on one with his thumb, causing Jaskier to gasp, and he moved on to examine the bruises he left elsewhere. A few on his chest were darker than the others, they must have been from the previous night. He slid his hand to the man’s hip, fingers perfectly lining up with faint bruises there as well. He liked seeing Jaskier marked up, as his.

“Right, I’m glad you think so. I’m going to have to wear a scarf, or a frock, or something. Totally not my style. And it’s bloody hot here, I'm sure I'll be an absolute-- Oww!” Jasker slapped Geralt’s hand away from his hip.

“Or you could just not wear a frock and show off to everyone. That way _everyone_ knows who you belong to.” Jaskier shivered at the thought and snuggled in close again.

“I’ll think about it.”


End file.
